


What the Day May Bring

by soulgyrl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mentioned Mrs Hudson, Mentioned: Mike Stamford, Mentioned: Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:46:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulgyrl/pseuds/soulgyrl
Summary: Written for the FB group- Sherlock-ian Things-Challenge number one- "Alternate ways for Sherlock and John to meet"Familiar faces and names, some familiar scenarios, but with a different twist. Sherlock is in desperate need of intervention and John has more control of the situation, Mycroft...ever the big brother... is trying to help.





	What the Day May Bring

What the Day May Bring

Dr. John Watson tore the mask from his face, ripped off the sterile gloves, and threw the lot of it into the trash receptacle.

“God, what a bloody day! Whatever possessed me to think I’d enjoy A & E over clinic is beyond me.”

His colleague, Sarah Sawyer, nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, bloody awful. You never really know what the day is going to bring, do you? And I hate seeing kids hurt, especially when it’s the result of some grown man’s asinine behavior. I hope they lock the bastard up and throw away the key!”

She was referring to the actions of one Roger Matthews, a local ne’er-do-well, who had run a stop sign and t-boned a school bus full of six-year-olds setting out on a field trip to the zoo that morning. The press had remarked how “fortunate” that only eight of the twenty-six children on board had been seriously injured, the rest sustaining mainly cuts and bruises…and two broken arms.

 _Fortunate? Maybe._ John had thought… _but tell that to the parents who are still waiting for their kids to come ‘round._

“You know he was completely off his tits, right?” Sarah continued. “I know him...know his whole family. He’s been in trouble since he was a young teen. First, it was pot, then crack. God only knows what he was smoking…or shooting…before he hit that bus.”

John ran a hand through his shock of dirty blond hair, then rubbed his eyes. His face presented a mixture of disgust, concern, and weariness.

“There’s too much of that…shit around,” he voiced, flailing his arms. “I know there’s no end of reasons people fall into that lifestyle, god knows my own family’s had its share of trouble with alcohol, so I don’t want to sound like a case of the pot calling the kettle black, but what the fuck. If you’re going to indulge in _that_ sort of business, at least have the good sense to do it at home…and stay put. What the hell’s wrong with our society, Sarah, that people feel their lives are so worthless that they fall down that sinkhole? Being a doctor, I know I’m not supposed to judge, but it pisses me off when other people are put in danger because of it. And, like you said, _especially_ children. Makes my blood boil! On the other hand, I sometimes wonder if the medical community, as a whole, is doing enough to address the problem. Well, I’m going to get cleaned up and head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sarah gave him her brightest smile. She really liked him…okay, she had a thing for him, though the good lord knows he’d never paid her the slightest interest.

“Right then,” she whispered to his departing back, “Until tomorrow.”

John headed for the employee lounge limping slightly; the limp a “souvenir” from his days serving in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. It took months of counseling with his therapist, Ella Thompson, to acknowledge that the issue with his leg was psychosomatic. He had managed to ditch the cane, however, in cases of extreme duress, or when he felt especially tired, it was not unusual for the limp to reappear.

He entered the bathing area provided for the hospital staff. He usually showered here after his day at the Royal London was finished…saved on using water at home. John washed up and dressed quickly. He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this hospital.

\--------------------------------------------------

John had just headed out towards the direction of the tube station when he caught the movement of someone advancing towards him from the side. There had been a string of muggings in the area the last couple of weeks, and he quickly assumed a defensive stance, fists clenched. If nothing else, his three years in Afghanistan had provided him with razor-sharp reflexes. He turned to face the approaching figure and saw a well-dressed, middle-aged man hastening towards him. He was frantically waving one arm and held something long and slender (an umbrella?) in the opposite hand.

“Hello….please, can you help me? Hello?” The voice was shaky, desperate, and the stranger, upon realizing he had John’s attention, quickened his pace.

“What’s the problem?” John called.

The man, now less than ten feet away, was breathing heavily. He stopped and bent over, trying to catch his breath before answering. “It’s… it’s my brother. He…he’s in a bad way.”

John shook his head slightly. “Where is he? What’s the matter with him?”

“He’s a…um, down that way,” he said, turning around and gesturing behind him. “

“Ah…not too far. I…I tried to help him get….here, to hospital, but he couldn’t go any further.”

“So he’s…what,” John questioned, “lying on the sidewalk….in the road…what?”

“No, not _the road_ ,” the man retorted, slightly exasperated. “The sidewalk. I left him...on the sidewalk. He simply couldn’t go on. Please, will you just _help me_? He really needs to be in hospital.”

Inwardly, John groaned. _The actual hell! I do **not** want to go back inside that bloody hospital. Damn it!_

But, of course, he gestured to the man to lead the way.

The pair took off at a swift pace and the gentleman proceeded to give John a quick rundown of the situation at hand.

“My name is Holmes, Mycroft Holmes. My brother is Sherlock. He’s… troubled. He has…issues with… various drugs.”

“Oh, shit,” John let out. “Is that what we’re dealing with here?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Which one?’

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. Although, I suspect opium.”

“Heroin?” John squealed. “Oh, lovely. I’m John Watson, by the way. Dr. John Watson.”

“I see,” Mycroft remarked. “Well, thank you for your help, Dr. Watson.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Is your brother a habitual user… an addict?”

“An addict? No…no I wouldn’t say he’s an addict. He tends to, um, _use,_ when something particularly upsetting has occurred…or he’s very, very bored. Or perhaps when he’s on a case. To be honest, I’m never quite sure what triggers it. He _has_ had a rather…disturbing past.”

 _Yeah, that’s what they all say_ ….the uncharitable thought passed through John’s head, and nearly out his mouth. Instead…”What do you mean, ‘on a case’? Is he some sort of police?”

Mycroft shook his head. “No not police, although he does work with Scotland Yard occasionally. Sherlock is a ….detective…of sorts. But, I really don’t want to discuss that now, please. Look. There he is.”

Mycroft pointed ahead to where two figures were kneeling beside a third crumpled up on the sidewalk. One of the kneeling, an elderly woman, had her hand on the fallen figure’s shoulder and was attempting to supply some sort of comfort. She stood as John and Mycroft approached.

“This man’s hurt,” she stated.

“No,” John countered, “he’s just…sick. Do you have a vehicle?”

The second Good Samaritan, a younger, heavyset man, answered. “Sorry, no. We were just out for a stroll.”

“Well then, John addressed Mycroft, “we’re going to have to get him back to the A & E the best we can.”

He squatted down behind Sherlock and forced him into a sitting position. “Come on then,” he spoke firmly, but gently, into Sherlock’s ear, “you’re going to have to cooperate with me… Sherlock is it? You can’t just lie here on the sidewalk. We need to get you to hospital.”

Sherlock mumbled something that John couldn’t understand, but apparently, Mycroft could because he was at Sherlock’s side in a heartbeat.

“I’m here, little brother. Sorry,I had to leave you alone, but I needed to find help. Doctor Watson here is going to assist me in getting you to hospital, but you do need to cooperate with us, Sherlock. You’re going to have to stand. Will you do that for me?”

Sherlock didn’t answer but made a half-hearted attempt to do so, before falling back against John.

“Whoa…whoa, careful now,” the doctor exclaimed. “Here’s what we are going to do. Mycroft, you will take the left side, grab him under the arm, and I’ll do the same on the right. We can bring him to a standing position and go from there.”

 Mycroft turned to the couple who were still watching. “Thank you for staying with him. It’s…it was good of you.”

“I wish you all the best,” the woman stated before the two continued on their way.

“So,” John questioned Mycroft, “you both were out for a stroll yourselves and your brother here just collapsed…or what?”

“He contacted me, Mycroft sniffed.” “I met him where he instructed and could immediately see he was in distress. He refused to get into my vehicle and insisted we carry on alone. Our initial meet up wasn’t that far from here.”

“So where’s your vehicle now?”

“I sent my driver home.”

John cleared his throat and nodded. “I see. Well, we best get on with business. Come on, there, uh….Sherlock. Up you get!”

After a few minutes of pushing and pulling, the pair managed to get Sherlock on his feet and half walked, half dragged him onwards. It was an arduous journey and took them three times as long to return to the A & E as it did to reach him.

\----------------------------------------

John helped Mycroft get Sherlock settled in the waiting room of the A & E and went to talk with the triage nurse.

“Brynne, hi.”

“Dr. Watson. What can I do for you?”

He leaned in close and spoke in a moderate whisper, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. “Look, I have an individual here who needs to be seen immediately. I’ll take full responsibility for the case, including filling out the paperwork. What do you have open?”

Nurse Brynne ran a finger down the paper in front of her.

“I can let you have number five. They should be cleaning it up right now. I was going to put a man with a minor laceration on his elbow there, but he hasn’t been notified yet so he’ll never know.”

“Thanks, Brynne. I really appreciate this.” John gave the girl a smile and a nod and went to collect his patient.

The three men entered the examination area and John pulled the curtain.

“I want to give you a proper going over, Sherlock, so I am going to need you to get out of those clothes and into a gown.” He indicated one that was folded at the foot of the bed. “Can you manage that on your own?”

Sherlock shook his head in the affirmative and his knees buckled at the same time.

“Right then,” the doctor exclaimed. “Mycroft, do you want to step out and let me do the honors or should we make this a team effort?”

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to protest, but John cut him off.

“Don’t argue with me and sit. And on second thought, it might be a good idea for you to stay, Mycroft. So, first let’s get this coat off and the trousers down. And yes, Sherlock, you can leave on your pants.”

The doctor and Mycroft worked together and soon had Sherlock gowned and lying on the bed. John commenced taking vitals and did a quick assessment of Sherlock’s physical condition. The man was bone thin and looked, and smelt, as though he hadn’t showered in days. His dark curly hair was matted with blood on the right side of his head and the doctor noted a small, but deep cut behind his right ear. There was a large purple bruise on the inside of his left elbow, along with several puncture marks…the tell-tale signs of shooting up.

“Well, you’re definitely dehydrated. Your pulse is a little too high and your blood pressure a bit too low for my liking. And you are quite malnourished. When is the last time you ate? Or have you been substituting smack for real food?”

“I honestly…don’t know,” Sherlock answered, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Things have been… a bit not good for me lately.”

“For the love of god, Sherlock,” Mycroft spoke through gritted teeth, “why didn’t you call me sooner? It didn’t have to come to this. And you never did tell me where you’ve actually been, although I assume it hasn’t been your flat.”

“Sherlock waved a hand aimlessly. “You assume right. But I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”

“And you don’t seem to be suffering any withdrawal symptoms,” John stated.

“They’ve….come and gone, I suppose. If I had any. Never really been burdened with them, to tell the truth. I am not sure what all my brother has told you, but I am not a full-time user.”

John patted the man on the shoulder. “I sure as hell hope not. I’m going to go for some supplies and I will be right back. You’ve got a bit off a nasty cut behind your ear, but I think a couple of butterfly bandages should do the trick. And I am going to attempt to get an IV line into you. You are in desperate need of fluids and I would also like to admit you…just for the night…for observation. If you would have let this go on another couple of days…well, we might be facing an entirely different scenario here. I think by tomorrow afternoon you should be feeling a lot better. Deal?”

Sherlock looked at his brother who was displaying a rather stern countenance. He blew out his breath. “Alright, I know that look. I promise to stay put until the good doctor here releases me. And you don’t need to hang around anymore, Mycroft. I know you’re busy.”

“No, I’m staying until I see you settled in. I ah, do have something I’d like to discuss with you. But I will step out while the doctor here finishes what he needs to do.”

\---------------------------------------------

John saw that his patient was settled into his room and left to finish up the paperwork and…finally…head home, with a promise to check in on Sherlock in the morning. Approximately ten minutes later, Mycroft finally broached the subject he was rather hesitant to bring up.

“So, Sherlock, _what_ is going on, hmm? And don’t stall, or fib, or any such nonsense…just…tell me. You haven’t been at your flat for days have you?”

“Try weeks,” Sherlock mumbled. I’m being…evicted. I sort of….set the kitchen on fire. I’ve got to the end of the month to get my things out.”

“How many times does that make now you setting fire to the flat…four…five?” Mycroft guffawed. “No wonder Mrs. Davis is giving you the boot. You really need to confine your ‘research’ to Bart’s lab. At least the dangerous stuff. So, what are you going to do? Where do you plan on living… or I suppose you haven’t thought that far yet.”

Sherlock dropped his head and swallowed hard. “Actually…I was wondering…”

“No,” Mycroft interrupted, “absolutely out of the question. I’ve told you…although I suppose you weren’t really listening...that I am going to be out of the country for several weeks, possibly a few months. And what I _had_ wanted to discuss with you was thee… eh…possibility...of you accompanying our parents to Oklahoma on their annual ‘country and western excursion’, although I’m not altogether certain you’re in any shape to make that long of a journey. They’re leaving in three days. I had _initially_ thought it might be good for them _and_ keep you out of trouble. Although at this stage of the game I believe they are in better physical condition than you are. How, does that make you feel, Sherlock, to know that you’re elderly parents are more robust than yourself?”

Sherlock looked up at his brother through hooded eyes. “Fuck off, Mycroft. And I’m not going to _Oklahoma_!”

Mycroft sighed…heavily. “What then?”

“I don’t know,” was the emotionless reply. “I’ll think of something. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m rather tired. Thank you...for your help, but I think I’m done talking about anything for the day.”

“I’ll stop in tomorrow to see how you’re getting on.”

“No need.”

“Then…I’ll call.”

But there was no answer, so Mycroft turned slowly and left the room.

\--------------------------------------------

John arrived back at the hospital around eight am the following morning. He stopped at the nurse’s station to enquire how Sherlock had fared during the night.

“Him? Oh, he’s doing beautifully,” Nurse Anne Ray affirmed. “Slept like a baby and has been a perfect lamb since he woke. A bit of a surprise, I must say, considering his reputation.”

The doctor, puzzled, shook his head. “His reputation?”

“Oh, so you’re _not_ personally acquainted with Mr. Sherlock Holmes! Assumed you were, taking the responsibility and all. Was it the brother pressured you into it?”

Now John was _really_ befuddled. “Well, his brother certainly asked me to help, but there wasn’t any pressure involved. Look, I really don’t know what you’re getting at.”

The nurse rested her elbows on the counter and looked as though she was ready to settle for a good gossip. “That Mycroft Holmes is government. Some say he’s got some questionable goings-on… behind the scenes, you know. And Patient Holmes is great at his job, as a detective I mean, although he can be quite put-offish.”

John chuckled. “How so?”

My brother-in-law, Petey, took him on once. Some of his prize horses were taking ill and dying and he hadn’t been able to determine why. Our Mr. Holmes here had it all figured out in less than a day. Poisoned…and by Petey’s own father! So, he’s good at his job, but Petey said he was the rudest chap he’d ever met. Told him his stable yard was too small for that many animals and his kids were too fat and would probably all have diabetes by the time they were twenty! I mean, he’s right, those kids are too fat, but the cheek! He’s lucky old Pete didn’t give him a clobbering taking about his pride’s and joy like that.”

“Well, I admit that remark about the kids was a bit…unnecessary,” John murmured, “but that’s just one opinion.”

“Then how’s this,” Nurse cried haughtily, “My friend, Sally Donovan, who works under DI Lestrade at the Yard, says he’s the most arrogant ass she’s ever come across in her life. She swears he’s psycho. And she has somewhat regular dealings with the chap.”

 

The doctor laughed out loud at this. “What the hell! Guess I’ll just have to find out the truth for myself. Thanks for the info, Anne.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Sherlock was sitting up in bed watching telly when John entered the room.

“Good morning. And how are we feeling today?” He inquired.

Sherlock switched the set off. “Ready to be discharged. I really can’t take any more of this lying about.”

“Feeling better then! That’s good, but I don’t believe you’re fit to be burning down any more kitchens or dashing about England solving crimes, or whatever it is you do, just yet.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shifted agitatedly in his bed.

“It’s clear _, doctor_ , that you have zero comprehension of what I do. My work is important. Both to my clients _and me_! I am the only hope most of those poor sods have. God knows Scotland Yard is damn little help.”

“So, you honestly do work with them? Brilliant! But let’s focus on our present problem, shall we? I spoke with your brother this morning and he mentioned the conversation the two of you had after I left yesterday. You _really_ have nowhere to go? Your brother doesn’t seem too keen on having you and you’re sure your parents wouldn’t give up a room even if they will be abroad a bit? I mean, it’s your parents!”

Sherlock sighed deeply. “I’m sure they would. But…their location is...inconvenient for me. And any...experimentation would be out of the question there. It just wouldn’t work.”

“Yes. I don’t imagine your mum’s too keen on having her kitchen incinerated. Well, I’ll make some inquiries and see what I can come up with. I really don’t want to release you until I know you have _somewhere_ to go.”

“You really don’t need to trouble yourself, Doctor Watson.”

John reached for and retrieved the stethoscope in his coat pocket. “It wouldn’t be the first time and definitely won’t be the last. This sort of thing happens more than you might think. Now, I’m going to do another assessment and then I’ll leave you to get a bit more rest. I’ll be back soon after lunch.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

Typically, this was the doctor’s one day a week off, but he spent the remainder of the morning in pursuit of lodgings for his newest charge. Something about the man intrigued him. More than intrigued him. But he would be hard-pressed to tell you exactly what it was.

John knew that the majority of usual places the hospital utilized when searching for temporary homes for patients would never do for Sherlock. A shelter wouldn’t work and the hostels and churches that occasionally helped out claimed nothing was available. He finally brought to the forefront of his mind an idea that had been lurking in the recesses of his brain: Baker Street.

He had taken residence at 221C Baker Street eighteen months ago. It was a small, first floor flat, nothing fancy, but suited his needs. And the landlady, Mrs. Martha Hudson, was a real peach. Doted on him no end. He was thinking Sherlock himself could use a Mrs. Hudson about now. Also, he knew that another place on the premises, 221B, a larger upstairs flat, was currently open. Well, had been open for a good while. Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get it let out claiming she was waiting for “just the right tenants”. Maybe he should take Sherlock home, give it a temporary run, so to speak, and if it worked out, a simple shift upstairs could be had.

This set John to arguing with himself.

_Why am I even entertaining the thought of asking a complete stranger to share a flat with me? Because he interests you. That’s not a reason. Okay, because your life is shit boring and you feel it wouldn’t be with this chap about. Still a stupid reason. What about a woman? There certainly has to be some nice lady somewhere, also bored and looking for lodgings. Yeah, right...and how have things been working out for you lately in that department? Sure, there’s Sarah, but…no. She just doesn’t do it for me. Fuck. Maybe I don’t need a bloody reason anyway. Maybe I just want to._

And with that, it was settled.

John returned to Sherlock’s hospital room around twelve thirty and found him picking at his lunch and Mycroft watching him do it.

“For god’s sake, Sherlock, would you just eat it,” Mycroft barked. “I’m surprised the wind hasn’t knocked you over you’re so thin. You need to get some flesh on those bones.”

“Spoken like a true fatty,” Sherlock snarled.

“Former….and don’t try to spin this around, this is about _you,_ not me!”

Sherlock sighed and threw down his fork. Mycroft’s voice softened.

“Look, little brother, I genuinely _am_ concerned about you. And I’ve spoken with mummy and she said you _could_ stay at the house… and look after Raoul and Caesar while they are away. It’s a safe place for you and saves putting the pets in kennel, too. Doctor Watson, have you been able to talk any sense into our _patient_ here?”

John looked at both men. “Actually, he’s doing pretty well, considering. And I have a proposal of my own. Sherlock, I did do some probing around for lodgings and, I’m sorry to say, didn’t have much luck. But…I do have a…a possible solution.”

John drew in a breath before continuing.

“You could put up with me…temporarily anyway. I’ve only one bedroom, but the sofa pulls out and the landlady has a lilo I’m sure we could use if it comes to that. And, the upstairs flat is vacant. There’s a couple of bedrooms there, so I gather, and I am sure I could convince Mrs. Hudson to let it out to you. I’d actually been toying with the idea of moving in there myself. So, I could just take the upstairs flat and you could remain in my current one if you’d prefer. Or, maybe you’re wanting a flatmate….to share expenses and what not. I’m sure we could work something out.”

Mycroft turned and walked towards the door, chortling all the while.

“Well, you’ve really thought this out, haven’t you, Dr. Watson. ‘The detective and the doctor’. Sounds like one of those cheesy crime novels father is so fond of. And with that, I suppose I will go home and finish packing. If you do decide to carry on with this… arrangement, at least I can go about my duties confident that you are in capable hands, brother mine. And don’t let him railroad you into anything you feel uncomfortable with, doctor. I’ve long suspected he’s looking for a colleague to enlist in his, sometimes questionable, endeavors. Anyway, I’ll check-up on you while I’m away from time to time, Sherlock.” He gave a wave in their general direction and left.

\-----------------------------------

The doctor finished his assessment of Sherlock’s current condition and declared him fit enough to be discharged that afternoon.

“So, Sherlock,” he began, “how do you feel about my offer. I could even help you get your things from your old flat. I’ve got a friend, Mike Stamford, who has a vehicle we could borrow, I’m sure. And I know Mrs. Hudson will approve. She’s the mothering type, and you seem the exact sort she’d lap up. Of course, this is all contingent on you wanting to, so the ball is in your court. Oh, and, eh, you may have to confine your experiments to Bart’s lab….for the time being, anyway. And yes, your brother told me you utilize their facilities. And _no drugs_!

Sherlock shifted around on his pillow. In truth, he felt a surge of excitement at this whole proposal, but he didn’t want to appear _too_ eager…he was still feeling quite vulnerable. It was a bit of an effort to keep it all in check. And he was sure he could definitely adhere to John’s demands…at least for now. He cleared his throat and gave his answer.

“Honestly, I’m not likely to get…or find…a better offer, so I would be….pleased to accept yours. Grateful…yes, thank you. We can definitely give it a go. See how it plays out. And if this Mrs. Hudson is willing to entrust me with one or the other of the flats…well, brilliant!”

“Great,” John exclaimed, with a clap of his hands. “I’ll go fill out the discharge papers, find you something, ah, clean to wear, and we’ll get you settled at Baker Street. I’ll ring Stamford later and we can make arrangements to get your things. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

Sherlock smiled and settled back into the pillows with an audible sigh. This was all turning out to be far superior than anything he would have ever dared hope for, truth be told.

\--------------------------------------------

John sat filling out the paperwork that would, in an off-hand way, officially turn Sherlock from his patient into his flatmate. He was amused, and still a little in shock, over everything that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. He had to admit, he seriously _was_ looking forward to taking up with this chap, Sherlock Holmes, and felt sure it was the start of something….what….the start of what….that he could not answer. “The start of something new, at any rate,” he whispered to no one. “It’s true, you never really know what the day may bring.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
